Happy Birthday, Cody

This week the election has taken center stage and, for the first time in many years, perhaps because of the distraction, November 2nd came and went without too much sorrow. November 2nd, 1992 -- 16 years ago -- I lost my son. Cody Andrew came into this life and left it all in one fleeting moment. After having two healthy children, I had no reason to believe that my 23rd week pregnancy was anything but normal. One evening, I felt a lot of fetal movement -- really the first I had felt in the pregnancy -- and suddenly I was aware of the little life within me. I was happy and excited to go to my regularly scheduled pre-natal visit the next morning. It would be the day I would find out the gender of my child. I had a boy and a girl, so it didn't really matter, but I would be able to choose a name and think about all of the possibilities. My youngest had gone off to kindergarten and I was feeling the sting of an empty nest. I couldn't wait to have a new baby home to fill my days with the joy only a baby can bring.

When I arrived at the doctor's office, I was humming and reading the most recent Parent's Magazine. It was a beautiful day. I was called in and my doctor, a very sweet older gentleman, began the ultrasound -- the first I would have of this pregnancy. I could see the screen and wondered if I would be able to identify the gender without him telling me. As he scanned, he began to concentrate and focused on the screen, angling it back towards him. I was disappointed that I could no longer see what he was scanning. After a few moments, he stated, "I'm not seeing what I want to see, so we're going to switch from the doppler to the internal ultrasound". "Okay", I responded. Once he positioned the wand, he looked up and uttered the words that would keep echoing in my mind, "I'm so sorry, honey, but this baby doesn't have a heartbeat". At that moment, I think my own heart stopped. I felt frozen in time. I was there by myself.

I don't think I said much. I remember him hugging me and telling me he was so sorry. I got off the table and walked out of the building and across the street, passing my car in the parking lot, and heading for the hospital where I worked. I remember walking in front of a moving car and hearing the honk. I felt zombie-like. I walked in the front door and passed several people I knew who greeted me. It was all I could do to stay upright, so I said nothing as I proceeded down the hall to my unit -- Labor and Delivery. As I pushed the button that would open the double entry doors to the unit, I remember feeling like I was in a bad dream. I fell to my knees and I remember screaming. Someone said it sounded like a wounded animal, a primal scream.

All of the nurses working on the unit were my friends. They all came running and picked me up and took me to a labor room where they talked with me, sat with me, and prayed with me. One of my friends, a physician, came in and quietly explained that I would have to wait to go into labor and then deliver the baby. He knew I would likely at some point want to have another baby and didn't want to cause my cervix to become incompetent by forcing it open. Fetal demise happens occasionally, but late term fetal demise is not common. No one knows why he died. Perhaps a non-functioning placenta or an underdeveloped umbilical cord. I went home to wait. I can't explain what it does to you psychologically to carry around a dead baby. I was showing, so when I was out people I didn't know would come up and ask when I was due. Some would touch my belly. I knew I couldn't go into details without completely falling apart, so I would just give the due date and move on. It took a week before my body was ready to deliver Cody. I went into labor at 2:00 a.m. on November 2nd.

I went into the hospital and labored for something like 12 hours before he was born. So tiny he could fit in the palm of your hand, but the labor felt like a full term baby. My doctor asked if I wanted to have a D&C. I couldn't even conceive of it. I needed to see him, to hold him, and to bury him. I had quite a support system in my friends there. Sharon, Jana, Margie, and an angel on earth, Annie. They stayed with me, prayed with me, and helped me deliver Cody and say goodbye over the course of those 12 hours. He was tiny, but perfect with all of his parts intact. His skin was almost transparent, but his features were delicate and he looked peaceful.

I can't even say I regret the experience all of these years later. It was, of course, very traumatic, but Cody taught me more without ever walking on this earth than any other person, child or adult, friend or teacher, has taught me in my lifetime. I view his death as God's will. Cody fulfilled his mission here on earth. He taught me what it feels like to be a birth mother with empty arms. He taught me what it feels like to be unable to deliver a full-term healthy baby. He taught me about grief and how to deal with it. He taught me that you can't take life for granted. He taught me who my true friends were. He taught me that there were people in my life who weren't true friends. He taught me how to tell the difference. He taught me how precious life is and how sometimes we don't think about others who are grieving because we are caught up in our own lives. He taught me what is important and what is not. He taught me that we all have a purpose and how important it is to fulfill that purpose. In retrospect, he did everything he needed to do before he went to be with God.

After his funeral, when leaving the cemetery, I had a sudden urge to go back to the grave site. I knew it was time to go and it felt a little crazy asking my husband to turn the car around so I could go back. But the urge was so strong, I insisted. When we got back to the little clearing surrounded by woods where my parents are buried, I was stunned at what I saw. There, on top of Cody's newly dug grave, were a family of deer. A beautiful 8 point buck stood guard while an adult female munched on the fresh flowers atop my son's grave. At her feet was a tiny fawn, still not totally sure on his feet, gingerly nibbling on the flowers. It was a sight I'll never forget and, in case I do, I have pictures that I was able to snap. I saw that as a message from my family -- "Cody is fine here with us"...my mother and father had him safely within their arms. When my children asked me why Cody had to die, I told them "because Grandma and Grandpa needed to have a grand baby to love and hold in Heaven".

Cody will always be my son, just as surely as my children who have grown to adulthood. It was a privilege to have witnessed an angel taking flight. Happy Birthday, son.